the swab was sterile.
“It’s a lab test kit,” she volunteered.
She took a deep breath and prayed he’d buy the lie she was about to tell him—especially since he obviously hadn’t believed anything else she’d had to say. “My doctor thought I might have strep.” Kelly purposely coughed on him and didn’t cover her mouth, hoping it would spur him to let her leave. “I’m supposed to swab my throat and drop it off at his office.”
He stared at it. A moment. Before he cursed under his breath. “It’s not for strep. It’s for a DNA test.”
Nick Lattimer groaned, a feral sound rumbling deep from within his chest, and he launched the vial into the massive fireplace on the other side of the room. The plastic shattered when it hit the stone-lined hearth. “Who the hell sent you here?”
She barely got out a denying shake of her head before Lattimer latched on to her again. He put her back against the wall. Not nicely, either. He meant business.
“My ward, William, doesn’t need another DNA test,” he insisted. “Let me spell this out for you.” He flicked on the overhead light and shoved his hands against the wall, imprisoning her. He leaned in, so close that she could see the swirls of gray and flecks of steel blue in his eyes. “William is not my biological child, and I have no plans to adopt him.”
Kelly had suspected the first part.
She’d prayed for the second part to be true.
“William’s really not your son?” she asked, desperate for him to confirm it.
“No.” Lattimer mumbled something else under his breath. “I thought maybe once…but that doesn’t matter. Not now. His mother is dead. He has no one else but me to raise him.”
So, there it was. All laid out for her. The only thing missing was the proverbial silver platter.
“But I think William does have someone else to raise him,” she whispered.
Something flickered in those icy blue-gray eyes. Surprise, maybe. Maybe something more. “Care to explain what you mean by that?”
Kelly nodded. “His mother’s not dead.” And because it was necessary, Kelly paused to clear her throat. “William is my son.”
Chapter Two
William is my son.
Right.
Nick didn’t know whether to laugh or curse some more. This woman was obviously delusional. Or maybe the person who’d hired her had brainwashed her into believing that she was indeed William’s mother so that she would do whatever had been asked of her.
Now, the question was—what had been asked of her?
Who had done the asking?
And how far was she willing to go to get it done?
Nick looked her right in the eyes. “Let’s try this again.” He held up his index finger. “Who are you?” Another finger lifted. “Who hired you?” He put up a third finger. “And explain to me why the hell I should just let you walk out of here alive.”
The threat garnered her complete attention. It also seemed to rile her a bit. Nick was almost positive he saw a flash of anger rifle through her jade-colored eyes.
She reached out and pushed down one of his fingers. “I’m Kelly Manning.” She pushed down another one. “I work for no one. Well, not on a regular basis anyway. I’m a freelance photographer in San Antonio.” She wasn’t so gentle when lowering his third finger. “And the reason I plan to walk out of here alive is because I’ve done nothing that warrants you trying to kill me.”
“That’s debatable.”
Kelly Manning. Nick silently repeated her name several times to see if it rang any bells.
It didn’t.
He was about to add another round of questions, but the door opened. It was Cooper Morris, the head of security for the ranch. A hulking man with a shiny shaved head and a body the size of a Sumo wrestler, Cooper took up most of the doorway. As if that wouldn’t be intimidating enough to his visitor, he had his weapon drawn and ready to fire.
“Are you all right, sir?” Cooper asked.
Nick debated how much he should tell him and decided to keep things vague for a while. Later, he’d find out why it’d taken Cooper so long to respond to what could have been a dangerous breach of security.
“Ms. Manning and I were just chatting. Ms. Kelly Manning. It’s possible that she’s missed a dose of medication or something.” That earned him a scowl from her. “Or perhaps the caterer is simply one of her many employers. Do a preliminary background check on her immediately. We’ll be waiting here for your report.”
Cooper glanced at her with his dark suspicious eyes before his attention came back to Nick. “Yes, sir.” As Nick knew he would do, Cooper gave an efficient nod and disappeared, closing the door behind him.
If the threat of a background check bothered her, it didn’t show. She certainly didn’t cower in fear. She got to her feet and caught on to his arm.
“I want to see William,” she insisted. “Please.”
Even with the added please, he didn’t have to debate this particular issue. “Under no circumstance will I let you anywhere near him.”
Her grip tightened on his arm. “But I have to know if he looks like me. I have to know the truth.”
“The truth? And just what might that be? That you have some insane fantasy that he’s your son? Well, he’s not. Understand? He’s not.” He slung off her grip. “His mother was Meredith Beirce, my late friend, and she died the very evening she gave birth to him.”
“Yes, I know. On October eighth, at the Brighton Birthing Center just outside of San Antonio,” she said without hesitation.
Nick didn’t hesitate, either. “Anyone could have learned that from public records.”
“That’s not how I knew,” she insisted. “I met Meredith several times. We used the same obstetrician, and we went into labor on the same day. And, yes, I also know that she died at nine twenty-three p.m. of complications from a respiratory infection.” Nick shrugged. “If you think knowing that information will impress me, you’re dead wrong.”
“It wasn’t meant to impress you.”
Without warning, she caught on to the waist of her skirt and shoved it down to expose her stomach.
Her bare stomach.
And then she lowered it even more. He could see the top of her ruby-colored panties, the ones he’d felt when he searched her.
“See that?” she asked. “It’s a C-section scar. I gave birth to a son the morning of October eighth at the Brighton Birthing Center.”
Nick glanced at the scar in question. He’d
